


She's Gonna Capture Your Heart (I'm Gonna Capture The Flag)

by lammermoorian



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, F/M, Fat Annabeth Is Love; Fat Annabeth Is Life, Figging, Inappropriate uses of weaponry, Semi-Public Sex, into the bdsm verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:41:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29274132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lammermoorian/pseuds/lammermoorian
Summary: Percy told her not to let him win, so she will marshal all of her various talents in order to pull out a victory. Every. Single. One.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 35





	She's Gonna Capture Your Heart (I'm Gonna Capture The Flag)

**Author's Note:**

> Be advised, all acts undertaken in this fic are equally consensual and are things that have been discussed offscreen. 
> 
> My eyes have been opened to the glory of plus-sized Annabeth!!!! All my Annabeths will be plus-sized from now on

Percy loves teaming up with Annabeth. And she loves teaming up with him. They’re always at their best when they are together--always.

But that’s not very fair to the other campers, now is it? 

Percy had pouted when she pointed that out, her heart fluttering at his expression, at him being so put out at having to be apart for her for a few hours, like they weren’t already attached at the hip and the lip and the heart. It was like when he would insist that she always be within hand-holding range, or that they cuddle as much as humanly possible. To be so loved and adored is still, somehow, such a rush, even though they’d been doing this for years now. To be so wanted and coveted is nothing short of a gift. 

She wants him just as fiercely, with a vehemence and a hunger that sometimes terrified her. She feels that hunger now, looking Percy up and down in his armor and blue plume. Clarisse had approached the Athena cabin with an offer of alliance that was simply too good to refuse, and Malcolm and the rest had jokingly threatened to disown her if she turned her down. After confirming it was okay with Percy, the two of them found each other on opposite sides for capture the flag for the first time in years. 

Once upon a time, he couldn’t even put on the armor without screwing it up. Now he is every inch the hero, the commander.

The lock on her necklace feels heavier than ever. She clenches around the plug in her ass, just to tease herself. 

Before the match, just after dinner, he had taken her aside behind the dining pavilion, starving for kisses. Out of the view of the public, because they were good camp counselors and they would  _ not _ traumatize the children, he had licked and kissed and sucked as much of her skin as he could get away with, painting love across her canvas, sculpting her a new body with the force of his grip on her ass. And she had just stood there, taken it all in. Allowed herself to be loved. 

He nosed the space behind her ear, nibbling at the lobe, a divine little starburst of feeling.

“I know it’s going to be weird not being on the same team,” he was saying, his hand stroking up and down her side through her orange t-shirt. “But I want you to promise me something. Can you do that for me, princess?”

“Anything,” she said, breathless. “Everything.”

“This one might be hard, but I want you to try your best, okay?”

“Yes, yes,” she nodded, “please, yes. Anything for you.”

“Okay.” He kissed her skin again, pulling back, and fingered the lock hanging off of her necklace. It was blue--obviously--and just pretty enough for it to be mistaken for a fashion statement, when it was anything but. Percy ran his finger along the edge, lip between his teeth, looking down at her through lidded eyes. “Don’t you dare let me win,” he whispered.

Annabeth swallowed.

He was right; that would be hard. 

“Understand, princess?”

She nodded again, unable to pull herself away from his gaze. She would do anything for him. This was just her latest challenge. “Yes, Percy. I understand.”

Then, he smiled, and it was all so worth it.

Now, they’re deep in the thick of it, and her team is losing. 

Oh, her plan had been genius, and Clarisse is always a force to be reckoned with, but the Apollo cabin had just gotten a new camper who was a real dead eye with a bow--even better than Kayla--and between her stealth and Percy’s sheer, overwhelming power, Red Team was getting steamrolled. 

But she had promised Percy she wouldn’t let him win. So she isn’t going to let him win.

Tracking him down is child’s play--just follow the creek. 

“Hey, babe,” he smirks, Riptide slung over his shoulder. “How’s it going?”

Grinding her jaw a little, she makes sure to look sufficiently annoyed. She knows how much he likes it when she’s all riled up. “You know. It’s going.”

He laughs. “Chloe giving you a run for your money, huh?”

“So she takes the glory and they’ve got you on guard duty?” It’s always worth a try, but she sincerely doubts he’ll rise to the bait. Percy doesn’t care about glory, or winning, or anything like that… except in very specific circumstances, which Annabeth knows precisely how to exploit.

“Cushiest job on Blue Team.”

He won’t rise to that bait, but she knows him will enough that he’ll definitely rise to this one.

Making sure his eyes are locked with her, she brings her hand to her necklace, fingering the lock just like he had done previously, bites her lip, moves her hips from side to side, like she’s trying to keep her composure--which she is, a little. He really does look amazing in his armor.

Percy narrows his eyes, zeroing in on her hand. “Annabeth,” he murmurs, his voice barely carrying beyond the little clearing they’re in. “What are you doing?”

She doesn’t respond with words. Just moans. High in her throat, suppressed, subdued, like the noises she makes when he has her gagged. 

It’s Pavlovian with him, honestly. 

“Princess,” he drawls, voice dipping even lower. “What’s going on?”

She steps closer.

It’s not hard to pretend to want him. Something about the armor, the self-assurance, the cocky look in his eye--it reminds her of being sixteen, of those glorious few months after the Battle of Manhattan, when the world was wide open to them, and they were practically untouchable. “I’m sorry, Percy,” she whines, her fingers curling around the hem of her short shorts, the ones Percy had requested that she wear, to better show off her legs. She never would have worn them on her own, so self conscious about her weight gain recently. After she had fucked up her ankle in Tartarus, after the Freshman 15 and the weight of living, exercise had been hard, and a lot of the time, it never really seemed worth it. Some people would have said that Annabeth had let herself go. Percy, grasping hungrily at her flesh, just said that there was more of her for him to love.

His eyes flick down automatically. He’s so easy, she thinks, fondly. “I couldn’t help myself.”

His face falls, morphing into a frown. “Did you--”

“Mhm,” she nods, biting her lip, even as his expression shakes her to her core. “You just--you looked so good, and I was so horny all day, I couldn’t stop myself.”

She had actually done nothing of the sort. She is a good girl--and good girls don’t touch themselves without permission, or get themselves off. Getting her off is his job, one he fulfills at every chance he gets. It’s not like she’s starved of orgasms or anything. Looking at him now, though, at the width of his shoulders in his armor and the flex of his forearm against his rolled up sleeve, the wave of his hair, she definitely wants to. She almost wishes she had, as the punishment for touching herself is a hell of a lot easier than the punishment for lying to him.

Green eyes flashing, he closes the gap, hand immediately coming up to cup her neck, thumb playing around the hinge of her jaw. “You know that’s supposed to be my job, princess.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, apologizing for transgressions both real and fake. 

Had they been at home, had it been a weekend, had they just been chilling on the couch eating takeout, her punishment would have been very, very different, probably involving a belt and some rope and some light housework. But, fortunately for Annabeth, Percy is just a man, in his element, flushed with assured success, and confronted with his extremely horny girlfriend in a not-really-secluded part of the woods of their childhood home. 

His next steps are totally predictable.

Percy grabs her by the hand, pulling just this side of hard, dragging her to a darker group of trees, where he pushes her up against the bark of one--thankfully, one not currently occupied by a dryad--and kisses her, hard. He has her hands in a vice-like grip in one hand, the other coming up to yank at her ponytail, giving him easier access to the long, unbroken line of her neck. “Gods, you are so fucking hot,” he is whispering into her mouth, across the skin of her chin, tugging lightly on her hair as his knee is tucked between her legs, mashing the fabric crotch of her shorts almost perfectly up against her clit. He’s forced her up on her tiptoes, so she can’t even grind down without losing her balance. “Walking around with that plug up your ass, thinking of me every time you sit down--you must have been soaking by dinner, huh? All pent up and nothing to do about it?” 

He eats her moans, feasting on her mouth like he does on her cunt, with all the force of a tidal wave.

“But you did do something about it,” he says, pulling back, “and you  _ know  _ you aren’t supposed to do that.”

“I did,” she agrees, to spur him on, to keep his attentions on her. “I was bad.”

“You were, princess, but it’s okay.” Holding her hands above her head, his other hand goes to his fly, furtively opening his pants and taking himself out. “I know how you can start to make it up to me.”

Good, she thinks. This is just what she wants. 

She hadn’t, precisely, told anyone she was going to distract Blue Team’s star player by giving him the blowjob of his life, but hopefully someone will eventually notice that he’s abandoned his post, and take the initiative. 

Not even hesitating, she drops to her knees, bare skin against the moss and fallen pine needles, and opens her mouth. Even when they started this, moving from lovers to dom and sub, from a fun thing on weekends to something they were doing all day, every day, he still doesn’t like her to be on her knees that much. He says it puts her too far away from him. 

But he clearly has no compulsions about it now. 

In the split second before, all she can think to herself is thank the gods he’s not that big. 

His cock fits so perfectly inside of her mouth, just tickling the back of her tongue, the smell and the taste of him so overwhelming her senses, she closes her eyes just to feel it even more strongly, shuddering as his hand comes to rest on her head, pushing himself in deeper. “Ugh, Annab--mmm,” he moans, his hand flexing around her wrists. “That’s it, baby. There’s my good girl.”

She whines around him. Yes, she thinks, yes, she’s a good girl. She’s going to get Percy off, because she’s a good girl. 

He’s not rough or aggressive, not with this, anyway. With blades and wrestling, sure, but not with this. He doesn’t thrust away in her mouth, bumping his pelvis against her nose, wanton and careless. No, he shouldn’t have to do anything to chase his pleasure. That’s her job, to please him, like he does for her. It’s teamwork. A partnership. She sucks, gently, her cheeks hollowing, and she feels his whole body shudder, running directly through her, a livewire directly to her cunt. 

He has her trapped, caught between the bark of the tree and his steady, firm thighs, pinned, nearly immobile--her favorite place to be. She can feel herself dripping, wet from the inherent eroticism of giving herself over to Percy Jackson. 

As Pavlovian as it is for him, it might just be worse for her.

Over and over, hands free, she works him with her mouth all over, sucking and licking and kissing every inch of him she can reach, pulling him all the way inside of her throat and kissing wetly around the base of him. 

“Unngh… fuck…”

Fellatio is something of a meditative act for her, so she really doesn’t know how long she’s been down here. Her knees don’t hurt, but she’s spent so much time on them, she’s sort of gotten used to it, any pain absorbed into the general, heady feeling of it all, of pleasing her Percy. She can turn off her big, beautiful brain of hers, the big, beautiful brain he loves so well, and just focus on the senses, the feel as he slides in and out of her mouth, the taste of him she pulls from the tip, the sound of his grunts and groans high above her. Around her head, though, she can kind of feel him approaching something of a completion. 

Hopefully her distraction is working.

“That’s it,” he babbles above her, hips jerking almost subconsciously, “that’s my good girl, oh-- _ fuck _ , I love you so much, Annabeth--” He chokes on a particularly hard upward suck, pulling on her ponytail. 

Yep. Definitely almost finished.

She moves on her knees, humping nothing at all.

He lets go of her hands, presumably so she can finish him off in the usual way, coming all over her face and her hair and her body. Percy knows how much she hates the taste of come, so he never makes her swallow--but, she thinks, a little extra something tonight wouldn’t hurt. 

“Annabeth--I’m--I’m--”

Yes, yes, yes, she thinks, bracing her hands against his legs, yes  _ please _ . 

“I--oh,  _ shit _ \--”

She opens her eyes, staring up at him, begging, pleading, and he comes, straight into her mouth.

_ Fuck _ , he always comes so much. Like drinking straight seawater. 

Still, she swallows it all down, making as big a show of it as she can, digging her fingers into his jeans.

“ _ Oh, fuck _ ,” he groans again, his hands pulling her head even closer, “oh,  _ Annabeth _ .”

She loves the sound of her name in his mouth, so wrecked, so reverent. 

Finally, blessedly, he’s completely spent. With one final, prolonged suck, she pulls off of his softening dick, exaggeratedly licking her lips, and smiles. 

Percy looks down at her like someone has taken a bat to his head, and instead of seeing stars, he sees miniature Annabeths. “I… that was…” 

“Was that okay, Percy?” she asks, placing her hands in her lap, playfully demure, even as her fingers itch to dip inside her shorts and take care of herself. 

He stares at her, breathing heavy, lips stretched in a fond, fond smile. Then he frowns. His brows drag together. His smile drops. “Was this a distraction?”

She swallows, blushing, eyes wide.

Dammit.

He really is cleverer than most people give him credit for. She should remember that more often.

A beat, and then he laughs. “Oh, princess,” he croons, petting her head. “Oh, gods, I love you. But you are in so much trouble.” 

Pulling her up by her hair, a pretty forceful tug, all things considered, he brings her mouth to his, kissing her for only a second. “Turn around,” he whispers, and she does as she is told, because she is a good girl--his good girl. Her ass pressed against his crotch, he pulls her flush to him, a strong arm around her chest, undoing the button on her shorts with his other hand.

She whines, so desperate for some kind of completion. Maybe he’ll jerk her off, getting her close to the edge before pulling her back. 

Then he lets go of her, pulling her shorts down to her thighs. 

“Bend over.” 

She doesn’t even hesitate. She’s already in trouble--trouble means punishment, and punishment could mean many things, good and bad. Maybe it’ll be a spanking. Oh, she could get behind a spanking. And one with Percy’s own hands? He normally doesn’t like that, preferring paddles and canes to his hands for pain. 

He rubs his hands along her ass, groping at each cheek in turn. Then he runs a finger down the crease in the center, and she can’t help but whine, high and soft. 

“You’ve been a bad girl,” he says with an audible grin, finding the head of the plug in her, and he gives it a hard, hard twist. 

She moans, full, and loud. “Yes,” she agrees, as much as it pains her to say it, “yes, I’ve been a bad girl.” 

Carefully, he pulls it out, tugging a little, the wide end pulling at her from the inside, and she shivers.

From the pocket of his cargo pants, he pulls out a handful of tissues that he keeps on hand for any random bodily fluids that need taking care of. “You should pull up your pants before someone sees us,” he advises, like it’s a normal date on a normal day and he hasn’t just removed her favorite sex toy from her ass. 

“But…” She shifts her weight from side to side, clenching on empty air, wishing it were something else. “But, Percy--” 

“You got yourself off earlier,” he says, “so you clearly don’t need your plug anymore.” 

“I didn’t,” she whines, desperation and adrenaline driving her absolutely bonkers. “I didn’t, I didn’t do anything.” 

Behind her, he stills, his hand resting in the dip of her ass. “So,” he says, low and dangerous. “You lied to me? You cheated,  _ and  _ you lied to me?” 

Touching herself without permission is one thing. Lying is another thing entirely. “I…” She swallows, licking her lips. 

“Well,” he says, “either way, no more plug. If you like winning so much, maybe you’ll get off on your victory. Understand?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Percy raises a perfect, perfect eyebrow on his stupid, perfect face. “Try again.”

For a second, she wonders what he would do if she replaced “sir” with “master,” but she has the distinct feeling that he would hate that even more. And her duty is to serve Percy. She doesn’t want to do anything else.

Swallowing, she bites her lip, takes in a breath to steady herself. “Yes, Percy.” 

“Okay, then.” He smiles, petting her side. “For lying and touching yourself without permission, no more plug, and no getting off.” She nods. All things told, it’s a pretty light punishment. He gives her a peck on the cheek, taking a moment to nose behind her ear, his smile brushing over her skin, and she leans into it, a moment of closeness and intimacy, a world of their very own.

“For your punishment for cheating, however,” he pulls back, sea-eyes dark like a rising storm, “we’re going to need a door that locks.” 

* * *

Red Team wins. Handily. 

Percy pulls her in close, kissing the crown of her head. “Great strategy, babe.”

“Thanks.” She rests her head on his shoulder, ignoring the snickers from other campers. 

She’s pretty sure people know what she did. Whatever.

“Walk me to my cabin?” Percy asks, pretending for the audience that she has a choice in the matter. 

Even if she did have a choice, she’d still say yes. “Always.”

They wander away from the campfire, hand in hand. “How are you feeling?” he murmurs, pulling her in by the hand. 

“Empty,” she says. And just about desperate to come. 

Percy grins at that, a silent promise that she won’t be for very long.

The walk to the cabin is not far. She almost wishes it were farther--not only to avoid her punishment for just that much longer, but also just to bask in the moment with him. The night air is crisp and clean as always, the stars bright and clear, the low light of the fading fire romantic in its own way. 

Cabin Three gleams in the darkness, pearly moonlight reflecting off the shells which decorate the base. After Tartarus, Chiron and Annabeth’s siblings had chosen to look the other way when Annabeth would come stumbling out of the Poseidon cabin at 7am, her curls all messed up and wearing a camp shirt way too big for her. 

Now that they’re all adults, she couldn’t give less of a shit.

Percy pulls her in, crushing her to his body, kissing her deeply. Automatically, his hands go to her hair, fingers tangling themselves in her curls, one pinky resting at the base of her neck, brushing against her leather necklace. He holds her like he holds his sword: with care and control, equal parts reverence and rule. Then he tugs, just a little, and she shudders, a thin whine disappearing into his mouth. 

Irritatingly taller than her, he presses his forehead against hers, looking down on her with soft, sweet eyes. “Hey,” he whispers.

“Hey.”

“I love you.”

Warm all over, a little fire in her belly. “I love you, too.”

“Why did you cheat?”

There’s no judgement, no disappointment. The space between them is made sacred, free from blame, and she can confess to any sin. “You told me not to let you win.”

Eyes crinkling, he smiles, lop-sided. “Yeah, but not letting me win doesn’t mean winning at all costs. You know that, right?”

Sure, intellectually. But that damn pride of hers rears its head, sharp-fanged, and all she can say is, “But you told me not to let you win.”

“I did,” he nods. “But losing doesn’t have to be such a big deal. You could have tried your best, and still lost, and that would have been okay. Next time, you don’t have to go to such lengths. Sound good?”

“Yes, Percy.” And he rewards her with another sweet smile, another chaste kiss, his hand flexing in her hair.

She could stand there forever. But her punishment awaits.

Percy takes her hands, pulling her with him as he walks backwards towards his bed. 

When she was a kid, there used to be a few rows of bunks, never to be used, but there for show, just in case someone needed them--and they could double as an extra infirmary, in a pinch. At some point after Percy moved in, a fountain had magically appeared in the center, serving no further purpose than to be something Percy ran into on his way to the bathroom at AM when Annabeth was sleeping. In the intervening years, someone, Tyson maybe, had removed some of the bunks, clearing up a little space to walk around, though the size of the bed remained the same, two grown adults cuddling together on a Twin XL, sleeping right on top of each other. 

He sits down, still holding her hands, eyeing her up and down, all at once respectful and indecent. “It’s time, princess,” he sing-songs, leaning back on his elbows. “You know what to do.”

She does. Without hesitation, she undresses, stripping off her shirt and her shorts, her blue cotton bra and her grey, utilitarian panties, dark and wet, folding them all into neat little bundles, laying them on the opposite, unused bunk. 

When she turns back, she catches him staring at her ass, lip between his teeth. “You are so damn hot,” he groans. “C’mere.”

Crossing to him, she climbs on top of him, the fabric of his pants scratchy against her skin, but his lips so soft against hers. His hands fall to her waist, rhythmically squeezing like waves on the surface of the lake. She tries to raise herself up on her knees, partly to escape the feeling of cargo fabric, but also to lift her weight up off of him so she doesn’t crush him. 

“Nuh-uh, princess,” he says, pulling her back down. “You’re not getting away from me that easily.”

She had hoped returning to camp would help with all the unseemly weight gain, but given that her ankle and shoulder are still a mess, and the healers have said they can't do much more for them, she’s still stuck. Percy never complains, or says anything that isn’t a compliment to her beauty, but she still feels guilty nonetheless. “I’m sorry I got fat and ugly,” she says, because she really really is. 

“Hey now,” Percy frowns. “You’re already in trouble for lying.”

“I’m not lying.” 

“You are perfect,” he says, his hands caressing the thighs that weigh down on his lap. “You are so perfect, and if all you’re going to do is lie about the person I love most in the world, then I’m going to have to occupy your mouth with something else.” He raises a hand and thumbs at her lips. 

She opens her mouth without any prompting, because her mouth, like all of her, is his.

“You like having things in your mouth, don’t you, princess? Your little show during the game certainly made me think so.”

Annabeth nods, her lips closing over his thumb, drawing it into her mouth.

“My thumb, my dick… what else will you put in your mouth, I wonder?”

Anything, she wants to say, tongue laving over his skin. Anything at all. 

With a gentle push, he eases her off of him, pressing a kiss to her wrist before divesting himself of his belt, undoing his pants, but leaving them on for the time being, and she whines. Call her basic, but she loves looking at his body, and hopefully keeping his clothes on isn’t part of her punishment. 

Then, swallowing, she watches as he reaches into his pocket, and pulls out his pen. “I wonder,” he says again, arching a thick, black eyebrow. 

He twirls the pen between his fingers, end to end, cap and body tripping over his knuckles. “Percy,” she says, heart thudding in her chest. “You want me to--?”

“Lie down.”

She clambers onto the bed, lying down on her back. Pen in his hand, he pulls her to the edge, her ass nearly hanging off, neatly slotted between her legs. 

“Open wide.” 

And he slips the body of the pen into her mouth.

“Careful with the cap,” he says, troublemaker smile firmly affixed to his face. “Don’t want it coming off accidentally.”

Her eyes cross, the pen sliding in and out of focus. Yeah, don’t want the cap on his pen coming off and the foot long blade popping out!

“Oh,  _ fuck  _ yeah,” she hears him breathe, her eyes flicking to his face. “That is so hot, gods, Annabeth, you don’t even know--” Fumbling with his pants, he shoves them down with his boxers in one fell swoop, refusing to look away from her. “Just stay right there, baby, don’t move a muscle.”

He pets her pussy, running his thumb up and down the seam of her cunt, and her eyes roll back into her head. He is far, far too good at this.

“That’s it, Annabeth.” Percy lines himself up with her ass, still open from wearing the plug all day, and pushes in, slowly, agonizingly slowly. “There we go. Now,” and he bends down, his hands bracketing her head, the tip of his nose nearly touching the pen. “Suck on my sword like you do my cock. And don’t drop it.”

With every thrust, her teeth clack against the plastic as she struggles to keep it upright and in her mouth. She swirls her tongue around it, hollowing her cheeks, holding it between her teeth, little breathing sighs escaping on each of Percy’s upstrokes. She nearly drops it when he slides a finger inside of her, her mouth falling open in a gasp. 

“Ah, hell,” he grunts, giving her a particularly hard thrust. “Hold on a second.”

He pulls out, and she whines.

“Stay right there, princess,” Percy warns, rummaging through his nightstand where they keep all their various ropes and floggers and clamps. He paints kind of a comical image, naked from the waist down, his dick hanging out and his tongue between his teeth. Soon, though, he finds what he’s looking for, pulling it out with a triumphant grin on his face. “Here we are. This is supposed to be a punishment, yeah?”

When she sees what he is holding, she gulps. 

He opens the tupperware, the spicy smell instantly filling the air. It’s fresh, probably pilfered from the kitchens earlier that day, peeled and whittled down to an easy-to-handle three inches, and she moans around the pen.

“Okay,” he says, coming back to her, fitting himself between her legs again. “Now. This part’s gonna be tricky.”

Then he picks up the piece of ginger, brings it to his mouth, and closes his lips around it, like she has around his sword, like she does to him every chance she gets, and he sucks. Ginger in hand, he drops to his knees, and places his mouth on her cunt. 

She shrieks, nearly lifting herself off of the bed, biting down on the pen. 

“Down, girl,” he says. And then he does it again. 

It hurts, it hurts, oh gods it hurts, but every sting is accompanied with the rub of a finger or the wet of a tongue, it hurts but it feels so damn  _ good _ , it’s all she can do to keep the pen upright in her mouth as she squirms and shakes on the bed, his strong arms laid across her hips to keep her down. 

It is  _ agony _ .

“You’re doing so well, baby,” says Percy, leaving another burning kiss on her thigh. “Just a little bit longer.”

“Pershy,” she whines, her breath whistling around the pen. “Pleash, pleash, pleash let me come--” 

But her pleas fall on deaf ears; he takes the ginger root, and slips it inside of her. 

She can’t hold back her scream. The pen falls from her mouth, hitting his sheets with a muffled thump, no louder than her heart, hammering in her chest. 

All is silent, for just a second. 

“Percy, I--”

“I told you,” he breathes, low and dangerous, “not to drop it.”

“I--I didn’t--”

He stands up, looming over her. In the moonlight streaming in from the windows, reflecting off the abalone and pearl, black hair wild and sea green eyes gleaming, for a split second, she thinks he looks like--

“I’m not sure,” he says, leaning forward once again, his pelvis bumping up against the end of the ginger root, and she fights not to jump again, “that you understood what I asked you to do. Was I not clear when I said not to drop the pen? Or,” he narrows his eyes, “were you once again wilfully disobeying me?”

“No,” she shakes her head, “I would never--it was an accident--”

“So you weren’t trying to cheat your way out of your punishment?” he asks, the sheets bunching between his fingers, a light scratch that sends shivers down her spine. 

She shakes her head again, boxed in and nearly paralyzed by the heat and heft of his body, of the toy inside her, of his pen so close to his fingers. “Never,” she swears. “I would never.”

He frowns, imperiously. “Let’s test that theory.”

Percy grasps the pen, straightens up. With the surety of a master, of one who has performed this action a million, billion times, he uncaps the pen, the celestial bronze blade springing forth. It’s a hero’s blade in a hero’s hand, and he wields it as such. There are few safer places in the world to be, she thinks, than beneath Percy and his sword, even as some small, Athena-inspired part of her brain is screaming at her to run. 

“Now, princess, I want you to listen closely,” he says, holding the blade above her. “I’m going to put my sword in your mouth. You are not allowed to drop it, no matter what--understand?”

“Yes, yes,” she shudders, panting, her toes curling against his legs. “Yes, I understand.”

“Okay then. Let’s try this again.”

And then, slowly, easily, with all the care and control in the world, he takes his sword by the blade, and lowers the hilt into her mouth. 

It’s a lot bigger than the pen, obviously. It’s a little bigger than him, too, not enough to hurt, but just enough that she can tell her jaw is going to be aching by the end of it. She closes her lips around his sword, the symbol of his father’s power, looks her Percy in the eye, and gives it a long, laborious suck, her cheeks hollowing, rolling her eyes back. 

He pushes back into her ass so fast it makes her head spin a little. 

Still holding onto the blade with one hand, he braces the other on the bed, and fucks the living daylights out of her, fast and rough and dangerous. After a while, he takes one of her hands, bringing it up to the crossguard and the little bit of hilt which sticks out from her mouth. “Hold this,” he growls, voice raspy, and she does, tilting her head back a little, pointing the blade away from his dropped head.

Gripping her hips, digging into her flesh, he moves, faster and faster, as Annabeth attempts to give  _ Anaklusmos  _ the same kind of treatment she gave Percy only a few hours ago. From the way she sucks and licks and slurps the metal, you’d think she was doing it to him instead, from the way he groans at the sight. 

“That’s it, princess,” he mumbles. “Just--like--that.”

On  _ that _ , he pulls out the ginger, then shoves it right back in, a sharp sting of the most pleasurable pain imaginable. Annabeth bites down on the hilt so hard she thinks she may have broken a tooth.

Percy fucks her, chasing the high of his own pleasure, her body a conduit for him to use as he sees fit, and because he is so generous, and so wonderful, and so loving, he deigns to bring her along with him, rubbing her clit in circles, pinching her nipple, sweet, sharp counterparts to the hard metal in her mouth and the restless cock in her ass. The sword bobs above her, hanging like Damocles, but she will not drop it, not only because Percy would reach out and catch it, and she refuses to interrupt the pattern of thrust and retreat, thrust and retreat that drives her wild and him closer to the edge. He gave her a command--don’t drop it.

She is a good girl. She is his good girl. That sword is staying in her mouth.

And stay it does, even as Percy grips her hips tighter, fingers digging into the meat of her, pulling her flush to him, his balls pressed against the swell of her ass as he burrows as deeply into her as he can go, coming, coming, coming. “Fuck, Annabeth, fuck--mm…” 

She feels it more than sees it as he relaxes into his orgasm, the tension draining away from his body, and she holds herself perfectly still, giving him a nice, soft place to come. 

He is warm inside of her, his fingers little fires on her skin, the ginger still burning her away, and she knows, deep in her soul, that there’s nowhere else she’d rather be. 

Percy exhales, drawing himself out. Dropping to his knees once more, he noses between her thighs, slowly removing the ginger root so that she can feel every hot, stinging inch of it against her, the sweet, excruciating burn it leaves behind, shaking so hard her teeth rattle against the sword.

His fingers come up to her mouth, suddenly so gentle, massaging the corners of her jaw. With one hand, he grasps his sword, slowly prying her mouth apart with the other, and removes the hilt. “Be right back,” he murmurs, smoothing over her jumping pulse.

Next thing she knows, he is easing her up into a sitting position, bringing a little plastic cup of water to her lips.

“Rinse,” he says, hand on her back. “Spit, don’t swallow. That’s my good girl.”

She does, washing her mouth of the taste of metal, floating in a haze. 

“Drink this one.”

This one has a straw, ice cubes clinking in the glass, and she sucks, her cheeks aching. Instead of the cool water she is expecting, she is suddenly greeted with the taste of hot cheese, tomato sauce, undercooked dough--and then it hits her. The night Luke and Thalia found her, they had pooled together their pocket change, and taken her out for some pizza. 

“Did you steal me some nectar from the infirmary?” she asks, fighting off a yawn. 

He smirks, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Guilty.”

Already, she can feel the burn of the ginger start to recede. Next time, she’ll ask him to let it go longer. 

Percy eases her back down, rubbing at her jaw, stretching himself out beside her, pressing himself as close as physically possible, like he can barely bear to be away from her for even a moment. Which he can’t, as he has self-professed many many times.

He kisses her neck, sweetly, without any heat. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she says, turning her face towards him.

“How are you feeling?”

Amazing, but that’s not what he’s asking about. “It’s fine.”

Frowning, he cups his hand over her crotch, hovering, but not touching. “Let me know if it doesn’t stop stinging.”

She nods, yawning again. It had been a hard game. It had been a hard scene. All she wants now is to go to sleep. “Percy?” she mumbles, struggling to keep her eyes open. 

“Yes, princess?” He pushes her hair out of her face, kissing her nose. 

“Can I go to sleep yet?”

“Not quite. Do you think you can eat a little something for me?”

She didn’t think she could so much as stay awake for another ten minutes, but she would try, for him. Because she is his, and if he wants her to stay awake, or eat something, or even give him another orgasm, she will.

“Okay.”

He gives her another wonderful kiss, soft and sweet, save for the tiniest, most inconsequential sting of ginger which still lingers on his lips. And then he gives her a cookie--chocolate chip, dyed blue, because of course--supporting her head as she nibbles at it. She doesn’t want to eat too fast, or get crumbs all over his bed. 

“There we go,” he says, like she’s a child taking some medicine. “Feeling better?”

She is. The cookie reminds her of the pizza--home, safety, comfort. Peace, after a long and scary night. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Impossibly, he snuggles even closer, draping an arm over her bare flesh, fingertips resting just above the small of her back. “I love you.”

“I know.”

“You did great tonight.”

“Thanks.” She knows he’s not just talking about the game. 

“I love you.”

“You said that already.”

“And I’ll say it as many times as I need to,” he says, tangling their legs together. 

Her whole body is warm, tingly, like sinking into a warm bath or a loving embrace. “Say it again.”

It’s not a request, and he’s the one who gives the orders around here. But still. 

He kisses her again, on the corner of her mouth, almost ticklish. “I love you.”

And soon after, they go to sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> me, march 2020: i'll never write percabeth smut, i don't do that anymore  
> me, september 2020: percabeth are probably the most vanilla couple of all time bc they're huge losers who simp too much  
> me, now:


End file.
